Stealing the Heir
by Music Antoinette
Summary: It's Count Volger and Otto Klopp to the rescue in this Leviathan prequel, along with other Leviathan related stories.
1. Stealing the Heir Part 1

Stealing the Heir

Part 1

Archduke Ferdinand's Master of Mechanics lived in a quaint little house in a middle-class Prague suburb. All seemed well in the Otto Klopp household. The Klopps were all seated around the dining room table, with their bellies full of chicken, and mashed potatoes, along with steamed vegetables that Otto's two boys hadn't touched.

It was a very satisfying feast that had been prepared by Otto's pregnant wife, Diana Klopp, who was due any day now with their third child. It was unlikely that anyone wanted another meal from Otto. The closer Diana came to her due date, the more protective the mechanic became. That meant that she had been forced to do as little as possible, thus the house fell into disarray and the family was served mediocre meals. But not tonight, the house was in order and no engine oil was found in the meat.

It was evening, and by now everyone was tired and weighed down from supper. Bracing herself against the table, Diana lifted her swollen body out of the wooden dining chair. "What are you doing?" Otto asked protectively.

"I was standing up. That is, if you don't mind."

"Oh," Otto looked at her flustered.

"Don't worry Otto; I will let you know when the baby is coming. Meanwhile you have two other boys to worry about." Diana looked at the miniature versions of Otto and pointed up the stairs, "You should already be in bed."

"Five more minutes?" the older boy whined.

"All of Prague is asleep and you should be too," said Otto.

"You do not know that."

"Yeah," the younger son chimed in, "I bet Prince Alek is still up."

"You do not know that."

"That's not fair, we just said that."

"Well, you could stay up but you know what will happen if you do…"

"What?"

"Oh, I don't want to scare you."

"Tell us!" they said simultaneously.

"Well if you aren't in bed when your parents tell you, little leprechauns will come and eat your brains."

"Really?" the younger boys gasped.

"Yup. So if I were you—"

"We're going!" the boys ran upstairs as fast as they could.

"You know, they are only going to have nightmares now," Diana said.

"We can deal with that later." Otto looked to his side and saw his senile mother asleep in her chair, then turned back to his wife. "Why can't they sleep like her?" Otto's mother stayed with them two years ago on the notion that it would only be temporary, but it was clear now that his old mother would be a permanent occupant in their home.

"Who are you?" the senile old woman asked suddenly. Otto looked down at his small mother peering at him through round bifocals. She looked acute but her mind was not.

"I am your son, mother."

"Otto?"

"Yes that's right."

"But you are so big. I only gave birth to you yesterday."

"No," Otto shook his head, "you're confused. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Are you sure? I think I would know."

"I am quite sure. Today is June twenty-eighth, nineteen fourteen. Didn't you take your pills this morning?"

His mother waved the question away with her hand, "I know what I'm doing."

"Mother please, you know what the doctor said."

"Yes, yes. But what does he know? As far as I am concerned, I only take it when I need it. Today, I am as sharp as a whip."

"What's today's date?"

"December fourteenth, seventeen twelve."

"No, mother I just told you. Please take your medicine now."

There was a sudden knock at the door, a banging rather, and the elderly woman lost Otto's attention. "Who could be paying us a visit this late at night?" Diana said as she headed towards the door, the rapping kept going at a deafening pace. "My Goodness."

"I will get it Diana, don't move," Otto got up and walked across the room. The rapping became more urgent every passing second, and when that had not received an answer the visitor started ringing the doorbell. "I'm coming I'm coming!"

"I could have gotten the door Otto, I am not completely helpless," Diana pointed out, "you act as if I will shatter at any moment."

Otto shrugged, turned the brass doorknob and opened the door. The door bell rang and vibrated in his ear until the last second. To Otto's surprise he found himself eye to eye with Wildcount Volger who let himself in without waiting for an invitation.

"What took you so long to open the door?" Volger spat.

Klopp decided not to respond the way he wanted to respond to the count, not in front of his wife and mother. Who knows, the baby may be able to hear inside the womb as well. So he hid his annoyance and apologized for the delay using the air of speech he preferred to use around nobles.

"What brings you to our home at this late hour, Count?" Diana placed here hand on her swollen stomach out of habit. Volger took a few deep breaths and looked back and forth between her and Otto. Otto hadn't realized it before but the count was sweating and panting hard, he looked tired and upset as if he had just ran across the country.

"Is everything okay, Count?" Klopp asked cautiously.

Volger's eyes were still fixed on Diana, "May I speak with you privately, Master Klopp?"

Otto looked at him, concerned, "Why yes, is it serious?"

"Would I be here otherwise?"


	2. Stealing the Heir Part 2

Stealing the Heir

Part 2

Count Volger paced back and forth across Master Klopp's chaotic work room, "So your wife is due…"

"Any day now," Klopp watched Volger's steps carefully, waiting for him to trip over a machine part, but of course, poised as always, he did not.

"I see, so is there any way that you could leave home for a few months?"

Klopp waited for Volger to tell him that he was joking, but that didn't happen. "What was it you needed to talk about?"

Volger looked around the large room as if he wanted to confirm that they were alone. "I just received a message from a man in Sarajevo. The archduke has just been murdered, him and his wife, twenty minutes ago."

"What?" Klopp eased down onto a metal stool, contemplating what Volger had just said. "But…that is absurd. He just sent me a telegram this morning."

"They were poisoned moments ago."

Klopp nodded his head slowly, "Does the Emperor know?"

"Yes, but I doubt he is losing sleep over it. You know that."

"So it is time," Otto sighed heavily, "His son is in danger. We need to get to him before the Emperor, before anyone."

"That is why I am here. Fortunately the archduke knew the risk of going to Sarajevo and planned for this. He wisely made preparations in Switzerland. It's safe there."

"But how do we get there?"

"The trouble is getting out of Austria quickly, and that is why we are going on horseback."

"Wait a minute, Count, horses?"

"They are fast."

"Yes, but if we run into trouble we will be defenseless on horseback."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Let's take the Cyklop Stormwalker; it's quite fast."

"But it is huge!"

"It is armored, heavily armored. That means it is safer than horses. And the whole point of this mission is to keep the prince safe correct? What is the point of getting him to Switzerland if he is dead?"

Volger tapped his foot, agitated over the fact that he had just been defeated. "Fine," he said bitterly, "but only because we don't have time to argue any longer. I would like to be on the road before dawn."

"Well then, we should probably get going," Klopp said. With that, Otto got up and swiftly began to pack his bags. He kissed his wife goodbye along with her swollen belly, and said farewell to the rest of his family. Otto reminded his mother to follow the doctor's instructions and would have to hope that the woman remembered his goodbye. He wasn't sure when he would be back, if at all. But Otto had made a promise to the archduke, to get his son to Switzerland if something were to happen to him and his wife, and he wasn't the type of person to go back on a promise.

Volger and Klopp stepped onto the quiet suburban street. A rather modest horse drawn carriage was stationed in front of Klopp's house. It was a change from Volger's usual, more elegant carriage choices. "Is that yours Count?" Otto asked.

"Seeing the circumstances, I thought it would be wise to choose a carriage that is simpler. Perhaps one that fits in with this neighborhood."

Otto nodded his head and ignored the slur as he threw his bag into the carriage. Upon impact, the carriage bottom made a bone shattering clanking sound. Volger cringed, and nervously looked around the street to see if anyone had witnessed what just happened. The carriage bottom was covered in hay but hay wouldn't make that much noise.

"My word, Count what…" Klopp paused noticing a glimmer in the carriage. Otto looked closer, and removed some of the hay. "Godswounds is that…"

"A dozen gold bars, yes."

Klopp suddenly felt dizzy as he wrapped his head around the fortune. That's more than he made in a year and he doubted even Volger has seen this much gold at once. Klopp looked at Volger in disbelief. "Count, is this legal?" Otto asked suspiciously and then his eyes widened, "You are a sly one. Is Ferdinand even dead? What are you up to?"

Volger smirked. "It's the boy's inheritance," he said. Otto didn't take his eyes off Volger still. "It takes twenty minutes to get to the castle. We just wasted two." Volger regally got in the front of the carriage and motioned for Klopp to sit next to him, which he did. Soon they were on their way.

The men made sure to take the backroads when possible, and stayed in the shadows as much as they could. The carriage felt heavy from the backload as they neared the end of the town. Across a large dark field, they could see the woods which looked almost black at this hour. They started across the field at a quick and urgent pace.

"It seems that we are making up the two minutes we lost during your little interrogation," Volger said. Otto listened to his statement and wondered if he was still upset because they were not taking horses to Switzerland.

"What do we tell the prince?" Master Klopp asked.

"Since we are taking the Stormwalker, we can tell him that there is to be a night lesson in piloting."

"You think that will work?"

"If not, we will have to make him unconscious, force him."

"Unconscious? You're not going to hurt him."

"Don't be ridiculous. Do all of you _commoners_ have such violent minds?"

"That's an interesting statement coming from a fencing instructor."

Volger glared at Klopp, "But I doubt it will come to that."


	3. Stealing the Heir Part 3

Stealing the Heir

Part 3

"Everything is ready to go sir!" Corporal Bauer called down from the Stormwalker hatch. Master Klopp nodded at the man. The men were at the archduke's castle. They, meaning Klopp, had driven the Stormwalker from the machine bay to the stables. The machine bay was where Klopp spent most of his time at work as the archduke's Master of Mechanics.

"Everything fit?" Volgar asked stunned.

"With room to spare sir," Bauer said.

"See, it only took five minutes," Otto said a bit smugly, giving Volger a taste of his own medicine.

"Five minutes, and thirty-two seconds, Master Klopp," Volger said cynically, "I do not like to cut it so close. Not to mention that this…Bauer, showed up late. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. We have twenty-six minutes before we should be on the road. And where is the other man you were raving about, where is he? Why isn't he here?"

"Relax Volger, everything will be okay," Klopp put his hand on the count's shoulder, "Alek will be okay."

The men heard the crack of a tree branch. Volger spun around, reaching for the pistol beneath his coat, pointing it in the direction of the noise. Klopp pulled his arm away, "It's just Hoffman," Otto said.

"I apologize for taking so long," Hoffman said.

"It's about time," Volger put his gun away, and looked at Otto.

"A pistol, Count? I thought you just stuck to swords."

"I have that as well."

Otto looked up at the Stormwalker. It shined in the moonlight and really brought attention to the Hapsburg seal on its chest. "Perhaps we should paint over that," Klopp said.

"If only we had time," Volger said looking at his watch. "We need to go and get the boy. Preferably within seven minutes."

Volger and Klopp started towards the servants' quarters at the back of the castle. The castle looked strange at night. It was almost eerie in all of the blackness, like a setting for an Edgar Allen Poe story.

Volger reached the door first and unlocked it with a key, Otto was right behind him. "Quiet now," Volger stated, as if it wasn't obvious already. The two men stepped into the dark hallway of the servants' quarters and Volger gently shut the door behind them. The building was connected to the first floor of the castle.

Volger moved smoothly along the wooden floor like a ghost, whereas Klopp seemed to make his every irksome step creek. Volger stopped suddenly, causing Otto to stumble forward slightly. Volger's irritation grew as he used another key to unlock another door.

The count looked behind the door, to the right and to the left. When they were sure that it was safe the men stepped into the hallway and their feet were treated with the soft smooth feeling of the marble floor. The sweet smell of gardenia filled the large hallways, one of Princess Sophie's favorites.

"Soon the prince will be safe in Switzerland," Otto whispered, "and we will be able to breathe again."

"I'm afraid we are not going to make it to Switzerland, Master Klopp. The Emperor will have us hanged by the week's end."

"We have to at least try, Count, for the archduke."

"Of course we have to _try_, I am just being realistic. It's something I hate to say because Aleksander is a good kid, but the odds are against us."

It did not take them long to reached the third floor, and the fifth door on the left. "This is it," Volger whispered searching for the right key to the prince's room.

"The archduke was a nice man," Otto said unexpectedly,

"Yes he was," even as Volger searched through the keys he was rather quiet. Volger pulled out a key that he was sure would unlock the door.

"What do we tell his son?"

Volger looked at Klopp in a way that seemed like sympathy but the count did not answer the question, he just shook his head slowly. With that he turned the doorknob, and opened the door.

The adventure began.


	4. Rumors

**Rumors**

"Recent court fashion dictates that all fashionable ladies wear their hair short. Like the Empress," said Countess Isabelle smugly, "It's _modern_, they tell me." The countess eyed one young shorthaired girl after another twirl across the marble floor, around the grand palace ballroom.

Next to her, Isabelle's companion Lady Claire rolled her eyes in disgust. "It's a shame seeing all of these young, innocent girls being seduced into idolizing that tramp."

"I swear, how that whore Deryn became the most powerful woman in Austria-Hungary is beyond me," the countess frowned. "In my younger days propriety actually meant something."

"Oh, I know what you mean. Lying, dressing up as a boy, absolutely scandalous," Claire waved her overlaid lace fan, and took a sip of her golden colored champagne, "I wonder what outrageous thing she will say tonight."

Countess Isabelle leaned in closer to her friend and she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Rumor has it that the girl actually held a knife to her husband's throat."

"How barbaric!" Claire scoffed.

"She has absolutely no sophistication."

"And you know not a word comes out of her mouth that isn't appalling."

"You know what's even more shameful, don't you?" Isabelle frowned as another woman, an acquaintance, came by; perhaps she wanted to hear a fragment of their conversation. But the woman was a lesser noble; therefore she was hardly worth the time of day. Claire raised an eyebrow out of curiosity, and Isabelle continued. "She was a young girl, on a ship full of men."

Shocked, Claire raised her slender gloved hand to her mouth; almost spilling champagne. Then she sighed. "So, one cannot help but wonder about her purity", Claire clicked her tongue disapprovingly and Isabelle nodded in agreement.

"What is she wearing?" Isabelle suddenly whispered and forced a warm smile as the Empress looked their way. Claire took her lips away from the champagne flute, and followed Isabelle's gaze to the lanky figure, dressed in scarlet silk, waltzing with the Emperor.

Isabelle and Claire looked at each other scornfully, once that Darwinist girl was completely out of sight of course. Claire shook her head, disapprovingly. "Oh Aleksander, _this_ is what happens when you marry below your class."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the fabricated tree it seems."


	5. Bath Time

**Bath Time**

"Goodbye, Dylan," Alek says as I jump from _Mr._ Sharp's shoulder to his.

"_Mr._ Sharp," I say one last time and the "boy" cringes, leaving me with a sense of accomplishment. It annoys _Mr._Sharp, which is why I am growing quite fond of the term and continue to say it. Alek of course doesn't take anything I say seriously so he always seems oblivious to these exchanges.

Alek pulls me off his shoulder and holds me in his hands. He brings me closer to his face. "You need a bath, Bovril," Alek says grimacing. That is the worst thing he has ever said to me.

I hate baths. My fur gets heavy with water and suds, and it is a strain to lift my arms. But maybe I can still be rescued. "_Mr._ Sharp!" I scream out of panic, perhaps she will take me with her. But alas, Alek's close friend is long gone. _Mr._ Sharp cannot save me, nobody can.

Before I know it, Alek is taking me back to his stateroom, although, I consider it to be _my_ stateroom. I simply allow Alek to stay there.

Soldiers bustle past us but I assume that they are too busy to worry about some miserable Loris.

When we finally arrive at my stateroom, Alek sets me down on the bed and pulls a tin basin from under it. I am running out of time.

"I am going to go and get some water," Alek says, picking up the basin. Take your time. Alek leaves the room giving me time to hide. I climb down and hide beneath the bed. The stateroom door opens and I can see Alek's boots come towards the bed. He is inches away from me now.

"Bovril?" I hear Alek say, "Where did you go little buddy?" A minute later, Alek's face appears in front of me. He's found me. I try to step away but he is too quick, Alek reaches out to grab me before I can get away.

I squirm in his hands as he places me back on the bed next to a brush and a bar of plain white soap. "Don't move," he says sternly, "the more you fight it, the longer this will take." I groan, he thinks since he is a prince he can boss me around. There is a knock on the door. Alek opens the door and a tall, stern man walks in.

"Count Volger," I say. Alek listens to him; maybe he will stop this evil. But then again, the first time he saw me he wanted Alek to fling me over the side of the ship. Thankfully Alek _didn't_ listen to him then.

"How does that creature know my name?"

"He is very perspicacious," Alek answers. "And he needs a bath."

"So that is what that smell is." Volger looks at me like he just squashed an insect; it is the same look that the other Austrian adults on the _Leviathan_ give me. "Do you need a towel?"

"I have one in my locker."

It doesn't seem like Volger will be much help to me. Alek lifts me up, and I struggle and let out a low growl. "Oh, Bovril, don't be so dramatic."

Oh no, I'm hovering over the water. I can see my reflection; my eyes are wide and terrified, all while Volger just stands back and watches. I am still struggling but Alek easily overpowers me and sits me down in the water. _Curse my small size_. I turn towards Alek, swooshing water around. I want to make sure he can see the sour look on my face. But he just laughs at me, "You look like you just swallowed a lemon," Alek says. He is enjoying my misery.

The water is warm at least. Alek reaches for the hand brush and soap. I watch with anguish as he rubs soap onto the brush. He then begins scrubbing me with the hard bristles and now every inch of me is white with foam. Once he is done with that form of torture, he washes the brush out and begins to rinse the foam off. I watch as the last remnants of soap seep off and into the basin.

"There we go," Alek says cheerfully lifting me up from the water. I'm dripping and cold as the cool air hits me, the warm water doesn't seem so bad now. Alek wraps me in a bright yellow towel. The towel offers some warmth and dryness. "That wasn't so bad." Alek smiles and gently sets me on the bed.

I can never stay mad at him for long.


	6. A Cadillac and a Stranger

**A Cadillac and a Stranger**

It was another end to an average school day. Blair, a seemingly average fifteen year old girl, made her way down the sidewalk just as rain began to fall. As she passed a police officer on the street, he smiled and waved and said, "Hi Blair!" Blair gave a quick wave back. "Tell Deryn thanks. My wife loved the sketches! Your mum is really good."

"Will do." Blair said. The bus stop was straight ahead, where a large group of average people stood and waited for the bus. She grabbed her school bag tighter as she found shelter under an awning that belonged to a very high-end coffee shop not too far from the stop. She could still get to the bus before it left. It was business as usual. She would go straight home from school, just like her parents ordered.

She sat on the wooden bench under the awning, and watched the rain pour down. Blair's blonde hair was quickly becoming frizzy in the depressing London rain. People huddled under the bus stop covering, but there were still many riders crowded around. They held drenched newspapers over their heads that were practically useless against the onslaught of raindrops.

Blair always enjoyed waiting for the bus, even in this weather; this was after all, the better part of London. She would marvel at the beautiful apartments and shops. The home she lived in with her parents was just an average home. But her favorite thing to do was people watch. The women would always wear the most fashionable clothing. Sometimes she would be caught staring and she would quickly look away in embarrassment. These were the days she wished that she had been born into such a high-class society. Daughters of mechanics weren't exactly envied.

Blair reached into her bag and pulled out her sketchbook. It had been a gift from her mother, and was one of Blair's most prized possessions. It was made with brown leather, and her name was impressed at the bottom in gold paint. Blair liked to think that she was somewhat of an artist, like her mother who happened to be an artist for a living. Of course she wasn't nearly as good as her.

Blair began sketching the crowd of people waiting for the bus until something else caught her attention. Blair watched in awe as a shiny black Cadillac drove up and parked on the curb. It was like nothing she had ever seen. A stylishly dressed man stepped out of the driver's seat with an umbrella, and quickly walked to the other side of the car. The man opened the door for a woman wearing a bowler hat, and the two walked into the coffee shop. Blair quickly flipped to a clean page in her sketchbook, and began to draw the Cadillac.

If her father was here, he'd give Blair a good scolding for gawking. "Money doesn't by happiness," he would have said. He might have been right, but she doubted he knew anything about wealth or station. Obviously if he did, he would see that money _does_ buy ritzy automobiles that give the illusion of happiness. And mirages were suppose to feel real, right?

She had the majority of the car drawn out within ten minutes. "You are very good." Blair closed her sketchbook quickly. She looked up awkwardly with her dark green eyes at the man who was hovering over her. It was the owner of the automobile. The man stared at her closed sketchbook.

"I'm not as good as my mum." Blair looked away with embarrassment. She had been caught again. But this particular man didn't seem to mind, especially when he saw the name on her sketchbook.

"Your last name is _Ferdinand_?"

"Yes," Blair said tentatively.

"Any relation to the late archduke?"

"No. But people ask me that question a lot."

"Really, are you sure?"

"My first name is Scottish," Blair said and looked away in an attempt to end the boring conversation. The stranger said nothing. Her strategy seemed to have worked, and anyway, the man seemed hardly interested in her Scottish background. But he still did not leave; it was almost as if he was analyzing her. "You know, I am not really supposed to talk to strangers," she said finally.

"Well, that is very commendable, especially this time of day when there are all these underprivileged people around. They are desperate, you know. You have to be very careful. That is one of the reasons I hate coming to this place this time of day. But of course, my wife decided she had to come at this particular moment, and it was my turn to yield." Blair didn't say anything; she just stared at the ground hoping the man would leave her be. "Well you see," he went on, "my wife and I take turns yielding. Otherwise nothing would ever get done. Do you live around here?"

"Why would I live around _here_?" She didn't mean to respond to his question, and looked down the sidewalk. The bobby she had spoken to earlier was no longer on the corner. The rain must have forced him inside. "You are a stranger, sir!"

"Why of course," the man offered her his hand. "I am Count Volger. Now you cannot say we are strangers."

"I think the principle still stands." She didn't shake his hand, but looked into the opposite distance. But he didn't seem to get the message.

"You are burning a bridge here." The man smiled, "Would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee?"

"First you insult me, and then you invite me inside for coffee?"

"When did I insult you?"

"Isn't it clear? I am just as 'underprivileged' as the rest of these people. The same people who you seem to think very little of and refuse to be around. So I guess that also makes you a hypocrite."

"Whatever you say," the man laughed. "You have a very sharp tongue." Blair rolled her eyes, he was becoming very tiresome. Blair saw the bus finally drive up at long last, her one escape from the stranger. "Are you sure you want to ride the bus? I mean there are always so many…certain people on the bus." Blair didn't answer. "I could give you a ride."

Blair looked up at the man, and then at the Cadillac forcing back a smile. She imagined for a moment what it would be like to actually ride inside. She sighed. It was a very nice vehicle, but Blair wasn't stupid. "I think I will just take the bus."

"Very well," the stranger said handing her a card with his name on it, "feel free to find me if you ever want to talk." Blair didn't see that happening. The man tipped his hat and went back into the coffee shop. The rain was settling down as the bus came to a stop. Blair put her sketchpad back in her bag and loaded the bus with the rest of the average people.


	7. The Shrew

**The Shrew**

Aleksander shifted in his velvet box seat for the third time and clenched his drinking glass tighter. His eyes drifted back towards the stage and away from the nosebleed seats. This was one of his favorite plays, _The Taming of the Shrew. _But he wasn't enjoying it this time. Alek motioned for a box attendant to get him another glass of vodka which he then swigged down.

"Mind your body, Your Majesty," Volger whispered beside him. Alek rolled his eyes at his advisor and in a purposely defiant move, ordered another glass. Volger glared at him. "Consider it a bullet dodged," Volger motioned towards the nosebleed seats.

"Are you talking about Miss Sharp and her male friend?" Dr. Barlow piped up from beside Volger. Her hair was done up fancily.

"Unfortunately," Volger growled. "They're engaged. I was trying to tell him that it wasn't much of a loss."

"Oh Volger, go easy on him. She _was_ his very first love." Alek, after suddenly being reminded of how nosy people annoyed him, ordered more vodka.

Despite Volger's objections, Alek's eyes wondered up to where Deryn and her fiancé were sitting. The two looked happy and in love. That should be him, not that flaxen haired insect. How could she choose that man over him? Alek was the emperor! Alek was the one who loved her. Perhaps he could arrange an accident for the man. _No, that's not right._

It took every muscle in Alek's body to prevent him from standing up and yelling, "You lying harlot!" She deserved it. He poured his heart out to her, told her that he loved her, gave her roses he had picked himself, only to receive no affection in return. But she had plenty of affection to share with that dummkopf!

She ripped his heart out. The scene when Deryn came up to Alek and told him that she was in love with Thomas, the 'dashing' war hero, was still hot in his mind. Of course, she wasn't the only girl swooning over him, and he did save the_ Leviathan _after all. But so did Alek! Only Thomas got famous for it, along with awards, and money, not to mention Alek's girl.

"Isn't he a pilot?" Dr. Barlow asked curiously, "Deryn does love flying."

"I know that!" Alek slurred, "I need more vodka." Alek had to watch as Thomas gave Deryn a rather scandalous kiss. _Can you have somebody justifiably executed for arriving late to a Shakespeare play?_


	8. Innocent

This story features my two favorite_ Leviathan_ characters. I truly enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you enjoy reading it. With any luck, I didn't make Volger appallingly out of character.

* * *

**Innocent**

Austria, December 1902.

Being best friends with an archduke involved doing favors for him when he was on a political trip to Germany with Princess Sophie. Count Volger sat quietly in Archduke Ferdinand's study under the gentle glow of a table lamp. It was close to midnight, if it wasn't already, and the household was sound asleep. The castle was utterly silent. Snow and wind rapped against the window behind him, and Volger struggled to keep his eyes open. Everything seemed to be in order at his friend's estate. The man stood up from the desk more than ready to go home.

Despite his drowsiness, Volger was still as sharp as a fox. He could sense movement behind the closed door to his friend's study. Someone was skulking about the hall. Volger drew his saber and glided over to the door. With swift, quiet movements, he pulled opened the door and stepped into the hall with his sword raised. It's unlikely anyone crept pass him, and yet, he didn't see anyone.

"Amazing," Volger heard someone say in a childish voice. He looked down.

"Are you a pirate?" A boy, no taller than two feet, stared at Volger through innocent dark green eyes. Volger sheathed his sword.

"No, Your Highness," Volger said and the boy laughed.

"My name is Alek."

"I know who you are," Volger started smoothly down the hall and could sense the boy following him. He had never personally talked to the young prince. Everyone just saw him as the ugly blemish on the face of the Austrian Royal family.

"I always see you around here. Why do you have a sword?" Alek asked curiously. Volger kept walking, trying to ignore him. But Alek struggled to keep up with him in his silk purple pajamas with little stormwalkers on them. "Why…why, why do you have a sword?" Alek asked again.

"Stop stammering," Volger said. "I just do, it's a fencing saber."

"Wow! Can you teach me how to swordfight? Like a pirate, or a knight, or a samurai, or a soldier, or a…a…"

"This sword is bigger than you are, Your Highness."

"I told you my name is, _Alek_!" he squeaked, "How would you like it if I called you…" the prince trailed off. "What is your name exactly?"

"Wildcount Volger."

"Wildcount? That's a funny name."

"That is my title."

"Title?" Alek was confused and stopped walking for a moment. As the young prince started to follow him again, Volger sped up. "How can people have titles? We are not books."

"Titles indicate a person's social standing, their rank, their importance. You, for example, are a _prince_."

"So is a wildcount more important than a prince?"

Volger paused and turned towards the boy. Alek frowned after seeing the count's cold gaze. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

The boy looked sheepishly at the floor. "I couldn't sleep," Alek said sadly. "There are monsters under my bed." Alek lowered his voice to a whisper, "Darwinist monsters fabricated by evil men. They want to eat me."

Volger raised an eyebrow, "You cannot be serious."

"Usually my father is here to scare them away. But my father is gone…and your not. You can scare them away. You have a sword!"

"There are _no_ monsters under your bed."

"Yes there are!" Alek defended. Volger knew this was absurd, but there was something about the boy's desperate look that caused Volger to acquiesce. So Alek led Volger to his room, where the count promptly turned on the light. Alek laughed at him, "They aren't going to be seen when the light is on."

Volger frowned, "This mission is irrational. First of all, if there were any godless creatures under your bed, we would be able to see them in the light. Second, even if they were, your father wouldn't be able to 'scare' the creatures. You would need a gun at least."

"Why?"

"It is unlikely that monsters would fear a mere man."

"Why?"

"They are stronger than humans, unnaturally strong."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Alek!" The count snapped. Alek laughed again, to him, everything was funny.

"You don't smile a lot, do you?"

"It's called being tired. You do not know what that is because you are only three."

Alek turned the light off, "You did it Volger!" Alek exclaimed happily through the dark. "You scared them away." Volger hadn't even lifted a finger, and he wanted to say something but was too exhausted. Plus the young archduke was happy, and that's what mattered. "Can you read me a story?" Alek turned the light back on and ran to his bed.

"No," Volger said curtly. "I am not your nanny."

"But I can't understand my nanny. She talks funny."

"She is French…" Volger started but then looked at Alek. His green eyes were forlorn and teary. Volger wondered how he had become so soft all of a sudden. He could contend with the most devilish of politicians, and yet he had a difficult time going against this child. Volger walked over to the boy's bed and sat next to him. Alek had a satisfied smile on his face as the count pulled a thick black book from his satchel. "Are you familiar with the French Revolution?"

"I haven't heard that story," Alek said.

"Ah, fascinating story. I advise you to shun revolutions in the future."

Volger wondered if Alek even knew what a revolution was. Either way, a boy is never too young to begin a well-rounded education.

"The French Revolution was a period of political upheaval wherein the French overthrew their monarchy. You see, they were ungrateful peasants who had no respect for authority."

"Oh."

"They overthrew Louis XVI, and his wife Marie Antoinette. She was a Hapsburg."

"Like me!"

"Like you, even though you have no idea what that entails. In any case, they cut off their heads."

"They what!" Alek looked teary eyed again. "This doesn't seem like a very happy story."

"Not to you and me. We are aristocrats, we have titles."

"Titles are a lot of fuss," the boy smiled and yawned. "Thank you, Volger. Although I would not have chosen that story."

"This is a duty, your father isn't here. I'm watching over his possessions while he is out of the country."

"My father is never here it seems."

"The archduke has a very important job."

"More important than me."

"Don't say that." Volger said sternly, "Your father loves you very much."

"Well, even if he isn't here at the moment, I am glad you are," Alek wrapped his arms around the count's waist in a rather crude hug, which startled the man a bit. Volger's face softened uncomfortably as he tried to come up with the logical thing to do. His own father had never hugged him. God's wounds! He thought of the _f_ word.

"Goodnight Volger," Alek pulled away and was unaware of Volger's awkward countenance. A minute later, Alek was nestled peacefully in his bed, sleeping innocently. He looked as docile as a lamb. How could anyone even dream of hurting him, even with the boy's unfortunate blood? But of course Volger wasn't about to let anyone hurt him. Not while the man was still breathing.

"Goodnight, Alek." Volger said and left the prince alone to sleep.

* * *

I like imagining Alek before his life crumbled around him. Before being hunted like a wild animal. This is before his parents were murdered and before he was forced to flee his homeland. Here, Alek is just a naïve little kid that doesn't realize that half of his family hates him. This is Aleksander during a happier time.


	9. Just A Dream

So this story is based on the song "Just A Dream" by Carrie Underwood. Perhaps you have heard. It is a truly pretty song, and I cried the first couple of times I heard it. Now generally everything reminds me of Leviathan. But this song actually has a military vibe to it, and after a while, I started thinking about Alek and Deryn.

* * *

**Just A Dream**

"Such a tragedy, he was so young," Deryn heard her mother say to one of her aunties behind the closed door.

As soon as Deryn got home from the funeral she had locked herself in her room. Deryn sat and quietly sobbed beside her bed in front of a window. She had been around people all day, and she just wanted to be alone now. She was tired of all the sad music they played, and their morbid prattle.

The sky was dark gray, which was fitting since Alek had broken his promise. He promised that they would be together forever. He was supposed to come home with her, he promised he would. But he just left her with a shattered and unfulfilled future. Why did he have to take that bullet for her? Why did he have to be the hero?

This isn't real, this couldn't possibly be real. Deryn thought as she wiped her face. Her body was completely numb from exhaustion. "This is just some terrible dream, a nightmare," she kept telling herself in a futile attempt to heal the pain. It was as if she were reliving one of her nightmares a thousand times over, and she was ready to wake up.

"Bloody barking prince," Deryn whispered softly, as she tightly held his piloting jacket to her heart. The jacket was the last thing she had left of him, and she had crudely patched up the bullet hole. Alek left her, he wasn't coming back. Countless girls had lost their men in this terrible war, but Deryn was supposed to be immune. This wasn't supposed to happen to her. Deryn still wasn't sure this was happening, it couldn't be. In the morning, she would wake up and see Alek lying next to her, alive and well. This awful dream would be over.


	10. The Bad Guy

**The Bad Guy**

It was a peaceful morning in Vienna. Inside an opulent sitting room in the emperor's palace was the robust scent of coffee accompanied by the soothing sound of Mozart. The gentle hum of raindrops hit the window in sync with the background music that filled the room. This was Franz Joseph time; because even monarchs needed time to themselves.

The emperor sat comfortably in his robe on a plush royal blue couch. Assortments of pills were sitting next to him on a side table next to a glass of water. Under that glass of water, there was a two week old American newspaper that served as a coaster. Plastered across the front of the newspaper was a photograph of his idiot grandnephew. Not much of a low profile. The emperor took a long sip of his imported Italian coffee and slowly took in the robust flavors. It was black, the way he preferred it, pure and uncorrupted.

On his lap was a more recent newspaper that featured a rather tiresome main headline. Apparently, that afternoon, a certain funeral was to be held. A certain funeral for a certain man, and his wife, whose names the emperor refused to utter aloud.

The emperor heard footsteps behind him, he was no longer alone. "In this manner a superior power has restored that order which I unfortunately was unable to maintain," the emperor said. The old man turned to face his trespasser. A younger man, perhaps in his early thirties, was staring at him. The intruder was clearly unaware of the emperor's presence up until that moment.

"I thought it was the Germans sir." The emperor didn't react. The man bowed apologetically, "Forgive me, my liege. I did not mean to disturb you. I forgot my watch the other night, I came back for it."

The emperor let out a small chuckle, "Oh Henry, you know you are always welcome in my palace. You are like a son to me."

"That is very kind of you, sir. I consider you to be a father to me."

The emperor smiled, "Join me for a cup of coffee."

"I am afraid that I must decline."

"Oh, is that so? Prior arrangements I assume." The man nodded, and the emperor stroked his chin in contemplation. "You are wearing all black, that's strange. You are usually such a flamboyant dresser."

"Uh huh."

"No yellow suit today?"

"It seemed inappropriate."

"Inappropriate?" the emperor narrowed his eyes. "You know Henry, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were on your way to a funeral."

Henry grimaced as if he had just been caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. A period of tense awkward silence passed. "I'm sorry, but he seemed like a decent man to me," Henry confessed.

"Oh shut up!" the emperor snapped and turned away. Feeling guilty, Henry walked over and sat next to the emperor and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"It's a very peaceful morning. Do you have any cream?"

"No." The emperor responded tersely. The two of them sat silently on the couch, taking in the soft sound of Mozart and raindrops and slowly sipping bitter coffee.

* * *

So there was another half to this story. But I do not know if I plan on finishing it. I do not think I will. I like the first part (this part) but the other half is sort of frustrating. I don't quite know how to finish it. The details still need to be worked out. The other half involved Alek coming to kill the emperor out of revenge, but Volger gets there first and warns the emperor. I figure Volger doesn't want Alek to ruin his life by adding murder to his resume. Feel free to steal this idea if you like because I have writer's block, or if you simply want to offer a suggestion.

Finally, when reading Levithan and listening to Scott talk about it, I always sort of thought that the rift between Franz Ferdinand and the emperor was overblown. But then I found that quote, about maintaining order, from Franz Joseph (Wikipedia). That wasn't a very nice thing to say. They really hated each other. So I decided to use the quote in the story, in fact, most of this sort of extended from it.

Anyways, my next story will involve characters people actually care about. So here I end my rambling.


	11. Lies and a Stranger

**Hopefully this will be uploaded before midnight; my last story of 2010! And if it is 2011, well, that's too bad. I was hoping to fit this in. :)**

* * *

**Lies and a Stranger**

"Chase me!" Blair looked down at her two year old cousin clinging to her right leg. It was winter break, and Blair along with her mother and father were at her oma's home in Glasgow for their annual Sharp New Year's Eve dinner. That meant that she would spend one fourth of her time with Uncle Jaspert's four boys attached to her body in some capacity.

The Sharps were all sitting around a dining room table feasting on turkey and vegetables and some other side dishes. Her, her parents, and Bovril had arrived in Glasgow yesterday, after boarding a train from London. Blair spent the five hour ride sitting next to a restless perspicacious Loris and holding Linzertorte. Linzertorte was a fruity traditional Austrian desert that her da had made before leaving London. So now she smelt like raspberries.

"Aye, knock it off!" Uncle Jaspert said to the toddler hugging Blair's leg. "Or no ice-cream." The little boy frowned, and let go of her leg.

"Later," Blair whispered as if telling him a secret. The boy smiled and walked away.

"Later," Bovril repeated in a hushed voice from the floor. The wee beastie stared at Blair, he wanted more food. So she snuck him another carrot off her plate. She couldn't say no to a face that cute.

"Would you like some more stuffing sweetheart?" Blair snapped her attention towards her grandmother standing beside her. "Certainly you wouldn't refuse a dish offered by your favorite grandparent."

"No thank you. I am pretty stuffed myself." Blair smiled, "And you are my only grandparent."

"Details, details," she said as she piled another heap of stuffing onto Blair's plate. "You are a growing girl. You need some meat on you. As you can see, it is too late for your mother."

"Bring out the Lines-or-tart," Uncle Jaspert said.

"Linzertorte," Blair's da corrected.

"Oh fine," Mrs. Sharp said. "Alek, will you help me cut it? It's your dish; you should dictate who gets what."

"I want a big piece," Jaspert said making a show with his hands.

"Aren't you full?" Blair asked.

"Hunger is a state of mind."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Does it?"

"No, no it doesn't."

"You will learn in time. I don't know about you Ferdinands, but Sharps can eat. Now eat that stuffing!"

After filling her belly with stuffing, and Austrian tortes Blair helped her oma and grand aunties clean up. She spent time chasing her younger cousins and shot fake bullets out of her fingers which warranted an angry look from Uncle Jaspert's wife. One of her mum's cousins let Blair try whiskey which practically burnt her throat. She had to wrestle poor Bovril out of a vase, how he got stuck in there was unknown to her. And by the evening's end she had built a fairly respectable snowman with her father.

"He's sort of lopsided," said a slightly tipsy Uncle Jaspert. He and Blair were watching the snowman from the veranda at the back of the house. Her father had gone back inside; it was December after all. Most people would try to avoid the cold. But Blair was in the process of sketching the backyard with the snowman as the focus.

"He's not lopsided, that's character," Blair said, her uncle laughed and took another sip from his beer bottle. "Have you ever tried whiskey?"

A burst of cold wind blew pass causing the pages in Blair's sketchbook to flip rapidly. The sketchbook was flipped open to the Cadillac she had sketched a month ago. She hadn't told her parents about the strange man she had encountered and didn't plan on it. "You haven't shown me that one," Uncle Jaspert said pointing to the Cadillac.

"I drew that last month at the bus stop."

"That makes sense. Those people probably have Cadillacs coming out of their noses."

"Delightful image," Blair said sardonically. "That was a rather odd wait. There was this one really weird guy who kept talking to me. His name was Count Volger or something. Usually I can avoid the…" Blair stopped speaking after realizing that Jaspert was giving her a funny look.

"…Count Volger?" Uncle Jaspert said slowly.

"Yeah," Blair shrugged. "But, _he _was talking to _me_. I wanted him to leave me alone." Her uncle stared at her blankly.

"_Count Volger_?" he said slowly again, as if trying to remember something.

"Yes," Blair raised an eyebrow. "Do you know him by chance?"

Uncle Jaspert stared at her for a moment, "Well…I um…I don't really '_know_' him."

"But you have heard of him?" Blair had never seen her uncle this reserved and silent before. "Uncle Jaspert?"

"Um…listen, no, don't listen. Don't listen to your drunken uncle. I don't know what I am talking about." Jaspert stood up, "I just heard somebody call my name."

"Nobody called you."

"Maybe you are deaf," he said and stepped back into the house leaving Blair feeling alone and cold. She looked back at the frozen snowman. The porch lights were bright against the black sky. "Blair," Jaspert poked his head through the door, and Blair turned to face him. "Uh, talk to your parents." Then Jaspert disappeared back inside the house.

Ten minutes later she found her parents huddled next to a fire with the rest of her family crowded in the living room. Everyone had their eyes glued to the grandfather clock. Five minutes until nineteen thirty two.

Blair forced herself between Alek and Deryn on the sofa. "So I didn't tell you this before, but last month I met his weird man by the bus stop, and he started talking to—"

"Blair, you know you are not supposed to talk to strangers," her da interrupted. "Somebody could have kidnapped you or worst," her father said. "There are mass murders out there."

This is why Blair didn't like to tell her overprotective parents stuff. They would always overreact. "Yeah, or I could have been abducted by aliens."

"That's not funny Blair."

"Relax, _he _was talking to _me_."

"Did you call the police?" Her mum asked.

"No! But as you can see I am unharmed. But listen, he started asking me all of these questions, and I thought he was crazy. But then I told Jaspert, and he started acting strange, and now I feel as if everybody is hiding something from me."

"Sweetheart, you can be completely honest with us about anything. And we will be completely honest with you." Her mother put her arm around her.

"Well…the man said his name was Count Volger," Blair looked her mother in the eye. "Do you know him?"

Her mother shrugged, "Aye, there are a lot of Count Volgers out there."

"Um, no there aren't, not in London."

"Well…I don't know anyone by that name."

Blair looked at her skeptically; she had an uneasy feeling that this honesty thing was a one-way street. Blair turned towards her father, "Do you know Count Volger?"

"One minute!" one of her grand aunties shouted.

What came next was unnerving. Blair knew her father was a lousy liar, but at least he made eye contact this time. So when he told her, "I've never even heard of him, love," she knew that was a lie. This meant that he did know Volger and that there was definitely more to this story than her parents would like her to believe.

"Nineteen thirty two!" Everyone shouted in unison except for the three of them. Blair watched as one of her mum's cousins opened a bottle of champagne—the same one who gave her whisky. The wooden cork rocketed across the room scaring Bovril off of the armrest.

"Happy New Year sweetheart," her da said and kissed her on the forehead; he smiled as if nothing had changed. But she knew that wasn't the case. This was definitely gong to be an interesting year.


	12. Gold Rush

**Gold Rush**

The sun was setting on the Swiss Alps as Andy, with his coat worn thin, trudged his way through the merciless cold weather. He was on his way home after an unsuccessful trip to the market. All he was able to buy was one head of cabbage, and a loaf of bread. That would have to last his family for the rest of this month. He imagined the desperate looks on the faces of his wife and daughter. They had a long winter ahead of them, and they were too poor even to get through the week.

By now Andy was pretty much dragging his feet; he was in no hurry to get home. Andy felt his foot snag on something, and his body lurked forward. Before he had realized what had happened his face and body were implanted in the snowy earth. Nothing was going right. He had no intention of moving. After two seconds of his face being half frozen in the snow, tears began to run down his cheeks.

He felt the sun hitting the side of his face and he turned to face it. There was a dim streak of light that hit his eye, but it was not coming from the sun. Andy got up and walked a few feet to where the spark was coming from. He wiped the tears from his face and could see clearly that there was something glowing dimly beneath the snow.

Curious, Andy began wiping away the snow and his mouth dropped. Was this what he thought it was? A gold bar embossed with the Hapsburg crest. Andy picked it up quickly; still unsure of whether or not it was real. He looked around; he could now see that there was gold scattered everywhere. It was almost as if someone had just thrown it out.

Andy pinched his arm; he definitely wasn't dreaming. A broad smile grew across his face. Nobody was around for miles. Free gold was lying in the snow, and with nobody around to claim it, there was nobody to stop him from taking it. Tears began running down his face again, but this time, they were tears of joy. He shuffled around the snow and anxiously picked up the gold. There were eleven bars in all.

Andy could not believe his sudden change in fortune. His family would no longer have to go hungry; he imagined having food other than cabbage for dinner. Perhaps even beef or chicken. He could move them out of that run down cottage they called home, into a decent house. He could get his daughter a better education, and there would no longer be any cold sleepless Swiss nights. Andy laughed away tears; they could actually afford firewood now. The bars were heavier than he had expected, but that wasn't much of a problem. He stuffed them into his bag and strained to carry them up the mountain. Andy suddenly couldn't wait to get home.


	13. Goliath Photo Shoot: Behind the Scenes

These are a few scenes that popped into my head after staring longingly at the _Goliath _cover. So this is my attempt at an alternative _Leviathan _universe.

* * *

**Goliath Photo Shoot: Behind the Scenes**

Deryn Sharp was sick and tired of screaming teenage girls. As she and Alek walked into the photography studio, hordes of teenaged girls were throwing themselves at Alek, _her _Alek. She hadn't thought much of it when Alek was being shy and awkward about it. It was sort of cute then, watching him fumble all over his newfound fame. Now the prince seemed as if he were enjoying the female attention, basking in it even. Deryn found it to be infuriating.

Once they were safely inside the studio walls. They looked out a window at the screaming crowd of girls standing outside the security gate. Alek's hair and clothes looked perfectly disheveled. He had lipstick marks all over his face and neck, and his face was flushed. Alek looked like he had just rolled out of bed which led Deryn's mind to other things.

Alek let out a tired breath and the prince smiled, looking smug, "Edward Cullen has nothing on me."

* * *

"I am ready for my close-up," Dr. Barlow announced to the director. The man peered up at her through foggy round glasses.

"Pardon me miss?"

"My close-up," she repeated, it should have been obvious.

"Um… actually we plan on having the two main characters on the cover."

"But I am much more interesting than either of the main characters. I practically made the last two books. Switch me with Deryn."

"I cannot do that ma'am. This is what the publishers want."

"But you will sell more copies this way, and isn't that what you want?"

"I am sorry Nora—"

"Dr. Barlow."

"Dr. Barlow," the director corrected. "It's business. This is what the people who sign my checks want."

Dr. Barlow stared at him with a cold expression on her face. "I hope you realize what you are doing," she said spitefully.

* * *

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Alek said firmly pushing the makeup brush away from his face. "I am not wearing any makeup."

The makeup artist looked at Alek with a bored expression on his face. "You are in desperate need of some color. It's like there is no sun in Austria. You are as pale as a ghost."

"The illustrations are all in black and white."

"Well we are not using the illustrations, are we now?" The flamboyant man waved his arms around wildly. "And they don't pay me to cater to spoiled trust fund babies, who insist on looking like they belong in a casket."

"Fine," Alek huffed.

"Trust me; I know what I am doing. Just ask my life partner."

"Your what?" Alek looked up at him very confused.

"My significant other." Alek's expression did not change, and then the man said, "I have an alternative lifestyle."

"Like, you're a hermit?"

The man let out an exasperated sigh, "You better hope you never lose your looks."

* * *

"Deryn Sharp?" Deryn looked down from the refreshment table and saw a little girl with red hair and freckles staring up at her. "Barking spiders, it is really you!" her eyes were wide and glowing. "You are like my hero! I know everything about you! Can I have your autograph?" The girl's sentences were practically running together, and she eagerly shoved her copy of_ Behemoth _into Deryn's hands.

"Aye," Deryn said smiling. It was always weird whenever random people came up to her asking for autographs and pictures. She was just some wee lassie from Glasgow after all.

The girl was beaming, and Deryn half expected her to shoot through the roof. "What was it like to fly on an airship? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite beastie? Have you ever kissed Alek? Did you like kissing Alek? What is your favorite food? Do you like pie? What is your favorite type of pie? What does Tazza smell like?"

"I uh…" The girl went on and on, and each question flew by so fast that Deryn wasn't able to think of an answer.

"Bovril!" The girl squealed abruptly. She ran pass Deryn to the Loris sitting in a director's chair by the table. "You are _so_ cute!" Deryn watched as the redhead cuddled and fed Bovril cheese cubes.

"Here you go," Deryn said waving the autographed book in the air. The girl glanced back but kept most of her attention on the Loris.

"Oh yeah," she said absentmindedly. "Thanks, just uh, leave it there on the table," she said, and then eagerly fed Bovril another cheese cube.

* * *

"Will Bovril be in the picture?" Alek asked the director. "He wants to be in it, and how can you say no to that face?"

The director looked down at the creature nestled on Alek's shoulder. His eyes were wide and wise. He supposed it was cute. But still, "No," the director said dryly.

* * *

Alek and Deryn stood in front of a yellow background with a manta-ship in the corner. The photographer pointed the camera at them and said, "Ready!"

"Wait!" Alek objected. The photographer looked up from the camera. He seemed as if he hadn't expected anyone to object to him snapping a picture.

"What is it, Your Highness?" The director spoke up from behind the photographer.

"She's taller than me," Alek furrowed his forehead and pointed towards Deryn.

"So?" Deryn glared at him.

"_So_," Alek said in a rather mocking tone. "I have to be taller than you. You are a girl I am a guy. Therefore, I should be taller than you. It's nature's way."

"You're being daft."

Alek waved his hand, ignoring her, "Can I get something to stand on please?"

* * *

"That's it!" the director yelled, and Deryn was finally able to relax her face. She began to think that perhaps Dr. Barlow was right. It did take more muscles to frown, than smile.

She looked up at Alek who was standing on a wooden box, and a dark idea began to take shape in her brain. Summoning what strength she had in her lanky body, she pushed Alek off of the box. The prince fell quickly onto the utilitarian gray carpeting, his arms flailing. Alek turned onto his back and stared up at her.

"Are you okay?" Deryn asked, trying to restrain a smile. Bovril laughed sadistically from across the room. Alek gritted his teeth and pointed an accusing finger at her.

"_You_ pushed me!" Deryn didn't respond to the allegation. Alek narrowed his eyes, "I should have left you on that glacier," the prince said wickedly.

"I love you too," Deryn smiled sweetly. She then started walking towards the refreshment table to stuff her face with cheese cubes.

* * *

"Thank you guys so much," a tall man walked up to them and began to shake their hands veraciously. "This means so much to me. Thank you."

"Oh, you're welcome," Deryn lifted a brow, unsure of the strange man.

"I guess this is it," the man said with finality in his voice. "Perhaps we shall run into each other again."

"Sure," Alek said just as awkwardly as Deryn felt. The man smiled and then walked off.

"Who was that man?" Deryn asked curiously.

Alek shrugged and shook his head, "I think…some guy named Scott Westerfeld."


	14. Eleanor Warner

**Eleanor Warner**

Alek could remember his first love. Her name was Eleanor Warner and they had met at a debutante ball. She caught his eye from across the ballroom in her beautiful white dress. His mother introduced the two of them, and from that moment on he was obsessed with her. She was a princess his age, and she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Hundreds of times, he had attempted to write her a poem but he was never able to truly capture his love for her. Words alone could not express it. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, and his every waking thought revolved around her and today he was going to tell her that.

It was a beautiful spring day, and Princess Sophie had been invited to a garden party by Eleanor's mother. Alek half expected his mother to decline, seeing as the two women hated each other. But of course Alek was happy for the opportunity to see Eleanor again.

Alek had decided to wear his best tuxedo. He greased back his hair, and drenched his body in his father's cologne. "I'm ready," he finally announced standing beside his mother.

The woman turned to him and winced, "Can you even breathe with all of that cologne?" Alek frowned. "I am surprised you even want to go," his mother said.

"I am a trying to be more social."

"That Eleanor Warner is very pretty."

"Really?" Alek blushed, "I haven't noticed."

"Well then, in that case, I guess you do not want my advice on how to get her attention," she said turning back to the mirror on the vanity. Alek sighed. He didn't want to take fashion advice from his _mother_. But then he thought of the lovely Eleanor.

"How do I get her to notice me?" he said sheepishly. Sophie immediately grabbed a towel from the desk and started rubbing Alek's hair.

"Your hair looks greasy and overdone. It should be neat but not too stiff. And go air yourself off or you will suffocate her. And you are not going to the opera; we are going to the Warner's gardens to have lunch. Wear your nice casual jacket and pants."

Alek took her advice and changed and then returned to her. "Much better, you look very handsome," Sophie smiled. But she was his mother, her opinion did not matter. All that mattered was Eleanor's. Alek smiled, satisfied, and soon the two were at the Warner Estate.

Alek watched as his mother and Mrs. Warner exchanged petty greetings before sitting down at a round lace covered table. "Hi Aleksander," Eleanor walked up next to him.

"Hi," Alek smiled daftly and kissed her dainty gloved hand. He pulled a chair out for her, and she sat down next to where he was sitting. Alek fiddled with a sweaty piece of paper in his pocket. On it contained his poem to Eleanor. He thought this one was close to perfect.

Eleanor looked so lovely, as usual, in her pastel pink sun dress and hat. She chatted away with a girl next to her. She caught him staring once and smiled at him, which sent a warm breeze down his back. But she hadn't talked to him at all; he didn't want her to think that he wasn't interesting. So he decided to initiate a conversation. "Did you know that a Cyklop Stormwalker can hold five people?"

"No I didn't," she said, and turned back towards her friend and continued to talk to her. _Dumpkoff_! What had he done wrong? He wasn't good at this sort of stuff. Alek glanced at his mother who was sitting with Mrs. Warner and some others who hated his family. He knew it was pretty pathetic to ask his mother for advice on girls, but he didn't have much of a choice.

So he walked over to the woman who had given birth to him, and crouched down beside her. "How do I get Eleanor to talk to me?" he whispered, looking back at Eleanor.

"What does she like?"

Alek smiled, he was an expert in this subject, "Well she likes horses, and croquet, and embroidery and tennis…"

"Well, then talk about that. Ask her questions. Talk about stuff she cares about and go from there," Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Save any machine talk for later." Alek nodded slowly, and went back to his table.

Eleanor and her friend were gushing about how charming one of Alek's cousins was. Alek scoffed, "He's okay. He isn't the sharpest tool in the shed." The two girls stared at him. "I beat him at croquet a bunch of times."

"I did not know you liked croquet," Eleanor said. "Me too."

"That is why I brought it up."

Eleanor laughed, "I am afraid I am not very good though."

"I cannot imagine you being terrible at anything."

Eleanor smiled sweetly, "Did you want to play?" Alek nodded happily and she led him into the maze of shrubbery. They talked and laughed, and Alek felt himself falling even more in love with Eleanor. She was funny, smart and had some of the most interesting stories to tell. "Do you like tennis?" she asked lacing her right arm with his left.

"I do," Alek smiled.

"It's amazing how much we have in common."

"It is. Have I ever told you about the time my father left his watch on a tennis court?"

Eleanor frowned. "I think everybody has heard that story," she said bitterly. Alek was slightly taken aback by her response but didn't think much of it. They were half way through their second game of croquet, and Alek had completely lost track of time. Eleanor had won the first game but Alek was pretty distracted. How could he ever love another girl after her?

That's when he remembered the poem in his pocket. How could he forget? Alek pulled out the folded up paper that was damp from sweat. The ink was smudged and barely legible. "What is that?" Eleanor asked out of pure curiosity.

"Well, I sort of wrote you a poem."

"You wrote me a poem?" She looked at him blankly.

"Yeah, but it isn't readable now. I spent a lot of time on. I finally found something that rhymed with 'Eleanor'," Alek smiled, "Who I adore."

But Eleanor just looked really confused. "I do not understand, Aleksander. Why would you write me a poem?"

"It's a love poem. I…I love you. I always have. You are the most amazing girl I have ever met." Eleanor bit her bottom lip. This was not the reaction he had been hoping for. Perhaps this was not the right time after all. Perhaps this was too soon. "I hope you do not think this is too forward. But I just wanted you to know how I felt."

"Um, that is really flattering. And you seem like a very nice person. But I am not interested in _commoners_." Alek felt something snap in his chest. "But we can still be friends."

"'_Friends_'?" The word had never been so distasteful, and he fought to hold back the stinging tears. Alek did not want to cry in front of Eleanor. He refused to give her that satisfaction.

"But there is no doubt in my mind that you will make somebody of your station very happy." Eleanor said, as if it was supposed to be some consolation.

Alek stared at her dumfounded and heartbroken to say the least. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He went through all this trouble for her, he put himself out there for her, and he never even had a chance in the first place. And the reason was completely out of his control. "But friends isn't good enough for me! I love you! What does it matter…?" Alek struggled to breathe. He was familiar with the mistreatment that came from his family situation, but never before had the rejection from others been this painful.

"I should probably get back," Eleanor said, and left Alek dejected in the maze. He looked at the folded up paper in his hand, and crumbled it up angrily. She was perfectly content, while Alek was breaking on the inside. Tears began to fall down the side of his cheeks. Alek pulled back his arm and threw the loathsome poem as hard as he could as more tears spilled out of his eyes. Boys aren't supposed to cry but he couldn't help it. That Eleanor Warner had stolen his heart and got away with it.

* * *

This story was longer than I intended. :/


	15. A Change of Heart

**A Change of Heart**

"I hope Lizzy likes it!" Volger heard a smitten soldier exclaim. Volger was on his way back to his stateroom after he had just completed engine duty, menial labor, and a sheer waste of his talent. What made this particular shift even more miserable was the fact that all he'd been hearing from the men aboard was Valentine's Day nonsense. Every soldier on the ship was going on and on about the gifts, and cards, and the irrational blather that they were sending home to their sweethearts.

None of it made sense to Volger. Even the most sensible men turned into mindless corpses when it came to Valentine's Day and the emotion garbage associated with it. This was wartime after all, and therefore not the best time to act illogically.

Volger kept walking trying to ignore the foolishness. He saw Alek coming towards him in a daze and the prince absentmindedly bumped into him. There was something red sticking out of his pocket. "Oh sorry," Alek said smiling like a fool.

"What is that?" Volger asked snatching the red piece of paper out of his pocket.

"Nothing!" Alek quickly ripped it out of the count's hand.

"Is that a Valentine's Day card?"

"Well…sort of. It's for Deryn." _Not him as well_. Volger thought about slapping the young prince. "I made it myself."

"Clearly." Volger said bitterly. "What are you thinking? Miss Sharp is a _commoner_! Have you learned nothing from your father?"

"I have. He followed his heart."

_This_ is the reasoning Volger found frustrating, and this senseless holiday only intensified it. "Why is it that every time I let you think on your own, something blows up, or governments are overthrown? You know the risk and yet you ignore them."

"I'm sorry but I can't help the way I feel."

"That's not the point, Franz!"

"What?"

"_Alek._ You know what I mean." Volger let out a heavy sigh.

"I appreciate your concern Volger," Alek said and walked passed him with a happy determination. Volger didn't get it.

The count eventually reached his stateroom. Everything was the way he had left it. There was a pile of paper and maps on his desk along with a book on elitist philosophy and a bible. But underneath it all was something else, something foreign…and pink.

Volger picked it up, and looked around the room as if to make sure he was alone. He was, of course. He would have known otherwise. Volger held in his hand a pink card in the shape of an anatomically correct heart. The inside of the card revealed highly feminine and proper hand writing that read:

_I know you have a heart. Happy Valentine's Day._

_~Nora_

Volger read it again, and before he realized it, he was smiling for the first time all day. Perhaps there was more to this holiday than he gave credit.


	16. The Night Before

**The Night Before**

Nora Barlow's morning was off to a very good start; she had just had her morning tea and was now on her way to speak to the captain. She walked down the noisy _Leviathan_ hallway with a very hyper Tazza in hand. The thylacine was sniffing everything he came across until he stopped abruptly after his nose hit a boot. Tazza looked up offering the familiar man a growl.

"Count Volger!" Dr. Barlow said. The _Leviathan _hallway was crowded with busy soldiers walking up and down the hall. It made it almost impossible to avoid the count as she had planned to do. Volger looked disdainfully at Tazza, and Nora pulled the creature behind her in case the count decided to kick the thylacine. Tazza moved reluctantly, it was normally him who was doing the pulling.

"Nora," the count bowed and kissed her hand. "You look lovely this morning."

A rather tiresome spark danced across her skin. "Are you always this formal?"

"Only for a woman of your charm and caliber."

Nora looked around; everybody was too busy to notice them. She looked back at Volger and stifled a smile, "I suppose we should talk after what happened last night."

"This is neither the time nor location to discuss the matter."

Nora narrowed her eyes, "I believe we can do without the condescending tone, Count. I am perfectly aware of the setting, but I do not plan on speaking to you again. I refuse to. So now seems to be as good of a time as any."

"You are a very commanding woman," Volger smiled. "I am impressed."

Nora let out a deep sigh; this was not going to be easy. "That is very kind of you, but please stop. What happened last night meant nothing."

"Really?" Volger raised an eyebrow, "So you are either a liar or not as classy as I made you out to be. I refuse to believe the latter because I am rarely wrong, and you seem too sophisticated for what you are implying. You must have felt something."

Nora glared at him, taking in the smug look on his face. It was insufferable that he thought that he had this all figured out. Even if admittedly, he was on to something. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of being right about this. "Even if I did feel something, and I am not saying that I did. It would never work out between us. It can't. I am one of Britain's top fabricators. You are a Clanker nobleman. This could never rationally take place."

Volger nodded slowly, "I am aware, but that does not change the way I feel. You never came across to me as the type of woman who lets anything stand in the way of what she wants. Last night proved that."

The boffin tightened her grip on Tazza's leash. "Fine, perhaps I did feel...something."

Volger smiled mischievously, "So did I."

"Well then," she said primly, "this matter has been settled," Dr. Balow looked down at poor Tazza who was now looking very confused. She pushed passed Volger and Tazza followed her dutifully, "I will see you tonight," she whispered.

"What?" Volger spun around to face her. Nora looked up at the count; he was now looking very seriously.

"Do not act so surprised."

"I was never implying that we act on our feelings. That would be quite mad, wouldn't it? Like you said, this could never work out. You were just against this notion. Now you want to throw practicality to the wind and go through with it. Why?"

"I am a very complicated woman," she said coyly.

"That just means that you are not going to tell me."

"Why should I?" Dr. Barlow smiled craftily. "You can figure things out. Come on Tazza," she said pulling the thylacine in the opposite direction. Her morning was off to a very good start indeed.


	17. Memoirs of a Fighter

Volger is such an interesting character, and we know remarkably little about his pre_-Leviathan_ life. This is how I see Volger's early years. For a moment, I thought about giving Volger an angst-free childhood, but there isn't any drama in that. Plus, I was listening to The Pretty Reckless when I was writing this, it motivated me. Therefore, Volger goes through the whole teenage angst thing.

**Memoirs of a Fighter**

**December 11, 1881**

"All he does is sit around all day and read!" A seven year old Volger heard his mother shout from another room. The curtain was open revealing the ominous forest outside. And the small Austrian sat on the red settee in his family's parlor, ironically-reading. Or at least he was trying to read. The room was utterly silent except for the exhausting yelling going on in the other room. He tried desperately to block out his parent's screaming, hoping it would stop..._for once_

"That is what he should be doing!" His father responded with acid in his voice. This was a scene he was very much familiar with.

"He needs to get out more!" his mother retorted, a little louder than before.

But he knew the yelling wouldn't stop, it never stopped. Volger knew what they were arguing about: _him_. It was always about him. About fencing lessons and how they were a waste of time according to his father.

Volger had thought the same at first; that was of course before he had fallen in love with the sport, before it had become a part of him. Fencing was everything, after his mother anyway. His mother, Countess Geneva, understood that. She was the one who had signed him up for the lessons, despite objections from himself and his remote father.

"He's fine!" He heard his father shout.

"Oh how would you know? You're never even home! There are times I feel as if I am raising him on my own."

"He's _fine_!"

"You call living in a gilded cage _fine_? He needs to be around kids his own age!"

At this point Volger thought about moving to a quieter room. Listening to the shouting match occurring in the other space, it was hard to believe that they were actually in love at one point. Their marriage hadn't been arranged surprisingly. But with the constant arguing, it was clear that lasting romance should be left to Shakespeare. Volger figured it would only go downhill from here, and finally decided that the best way to block out the screaming anger was to leave the room. _That_ he could control.

**June 10, 1887**

The unfriendly black carriage pulled up to the church, and Volger stepped out onto the rain drenched sidewalk. His father stood a yard away, dressed in black, with a vague expression on his face. Meanwhile, Volger was slowly breaking inside. His mother, the only one who cared about him, the only one who could understand him, was dead, taken by that terrible disease that nobody saw coming, especially him. What made it even worse was the fact that there was nothing he could do about it. It was out of his control and Volger was starting to dread not being in control of things.

The funeral was quick and painful. There was an open casket, and they buried her in the cemetery behind the church. But it wasn't until the last of the large black casket disappeared beneath the moistened earth that Volger actually cried. He couldn't even remember the last time he cried. He looked at his father through teary eyes, and the large man looked down at him.

His father had gone through the entire event with nothing on his face. Not sadness or any sign of caring for either him or his mother. His father said a few last words that Volger found repulsive. Who did he think he was fooling? Volger could see through the man's ruse, nothing he said was genuine.

"Did you love her?" Volger asked his father during the lonely carriage ride home.

The man looked at him vacantly, "There is more to a marriage than just love," his father said, and that was the end of it.

The next ten days consisted of nothing but fencing. It was the only thing that could penetrate the loneliness. It kept him from going insane. But above all, he _had_ to keep fencing, for his mother.

**June 20, 1887**

Volger knew something was wrong when he walked into his father's study judging by the half-full cup of tea on the man's desk. It was noon, and by then he should have been done with his second cup of tea, as always, on the dot. Interestingly, Volger's father did not realize his own routine. So it was unlikely his father recognized the significance that came with the fact that his cup wasn't empty.

Perhaps he had changed his mind about the fencing lessons; his father had agreed to let them continue, albeit reluctantly. The threat of his father stealing his saber and replacing it with books on stormwalkers always loomed. A thought Volger found unnerving. Of course, he'd prefer walkers over those demonic beasts that the Darwinist use, but walkers weren't nearly as poetic as a fencing saber. "Are you going to take the fencing lessons away now," Volger asked, seeing as how enjoyed making his son's life miserable.

Volger's father rubbed his head, wearing an exasperated look on his face. "Nobody swordfights anymore, Volger, swords are basically obsolete. Walkers are the future. A saber is no good when you have a heavy cannon pointed at you."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I fence because I enjoy it? Fencing is the only thing that makes things tolerable nowadays."

"Look, let's not argue about this now. I actually have good news, I have some connections and had a few strings pulled. And in August, you will be attending a boarding school in Vienna."

"Boarding school?" Volger said slowly, digesting what his father had just said. He stared the elder Volger in the eye as the man smoked a cigar in his ornate leather chair. Volger made no attempt to hide his contempt for the idea. "Good news for you perhaps. You have finally managed to get rid of me."

His father leaned towards him with a serious expression, "I don't appreciate your ungrateful insolence. I am sending you to one of the most prestigious schools in the country."

"Exactly, you're sending me away from my home, away from you. Even if you send me to…" he trailed off, "_public school_," Volger said with a shiver. "It's all the same; I won't be here which is just what you want! You couldn't wait until I turned thirteen, so you can ship me off."

"Well, you aren't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed are you? Public schools tend to be local and do not offer board."

Volger narrowed his eyes, dreading his youth. When you were that young everything was decided for you. You had very little authority over your own life. "Don't you understand—"

His father waved hand dismissively, "It has already been done."

**August 2, 1887**

"I would like to request a single room." Volger stood in front of the headmaster's desk. This was his third time petitioning the headmaster. If he had to endure this torment, he didn't plan on sharing a room. All of the other students were older than him, and outranked him, and they made that quite clear to him every day. And as a result, he didn't have any friends.

"What is wrong with the room you have?" The pudgy man asked gruffly.

Volger's reply was interrupted by the headmaster's assistant sticking her head into the office and announcing, "I am headed home!"

"I will see you tomorrow," the headmaster smiled and waved her away. "Now, where were we-?"

"My room is not a single."

"Well, like I told you before. There are no more singles available, you will have to share."

"I do not want to share."

"This is a very crowded school, and not everyone can get the living conditions that they would like."

Volger groaned, this was turning into more of a challenged than he anticipated. But he liked a good challenge and he had learned from his past years as a bitter young man that morals were relative. "You left for home at an awfully late hour yesterday." Volger told the headmaster. "May I ask how long have you been married?"

The headmaster blinked. "Um…I am afraid you have lost me Volger." The headmaster raised his single eyebrow inquisitively, "I do not see where you are going—"

"How will you find out if you do not answer the question?"

"Twenty," the headmaster said looking very confused.

"Just as I thought," Volger rubbed his chin. "Last night I was passing by this very office. It was rather late, and I heard the most peculiar noises."

The headmaster shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Did you now?"

"I did, and then I passed by an hour later and saw your assistant leaving. Now, I am not as naïve as the other privileged boys here. I know very well what went on in here last night. It would be interesting to see what your wife would think of the incident. Or anyone else for that matter, rumors spread so quickly around here. You never know who would hear of such matters. Do you need any water? You look a little sweaty."

"Well…um…"

"Why are we beating around the bush? I won't tell anyone of the previous night's lustful events if you arrange a single room for me."

"I think I can arrange something after all."


	18. Interruption

**Interruption**

"Your Majesty!"

Alek moaned after hearing the voice. He had escaped to his study in order to avoid Volger and the war minister and half a dozen more politicians. It was beautiful outside, and Alek had an enjoyable morning. And it drained him to talk about another bloody war engulfing Europe. But he _was_ the emperor, so Alek really didn't have a choice.

"We can no longer avoid the topic," the minister of war said. "What are you going to do about Germany?"

"The way I see it—"

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" A mass of brown hair pushed through the crowd of men, causing moans, and annoyed words to pass through the air. Seconds later, a three foot tall girl climbed into Alek's lap and stared at him through deep blue eyes that reminded him, so much of her mother. "Look what I found!"

She held out her muddy hand, where a lizard was hopelessly clutched in his daughter's hand. The men around him made no attempt to hide their disgust. Alek looked up at the war minister, who had covered his mouth as if the lizard were a disease that he didn't want to catch. "I found him in the garden. It's a lizard!" The girl squawked.

"I can see that, Maxine," he said wiping the loose dirt off of her pale blue dress. She looked at him again, those eyes melting his heart. She seemed disappointed that he wasn't as thrilled with her find as she was.

"Mother said that some lizards can talk," she smiled. "Do you think he can talk?"

"Ahem," one of the men cleared his throat. Alek looked back at the politicians who were all waiting for his answer—to the question regarding Germany, of course.

"What are you doing?" Maxine asked, out of youthful curiosity.

"This doesn't really concern you, Your Highness," the war minister said.

"Why?"

The man frowned, clearly even more annoyed than he was before. "Because he is the emperor," he said in a venomous tone that Alek didn't appreciate being aimed at his daughter.

"Oh," Max looked back at her father oblivious to the group's annoyance. "What does the emperor do?" She asked her father.

"Well, rule Austria. Actually…" He leaned in closer to her, "We are actually in the middle of something very important. So perhaps you should return the lizard to his home, safely."

"I'm fine."

"Oh, I have no doubt about you. It's the lizard I am worried about, knowing your track record with living creatures."

"Oh," the girl looked silently at the men with a vague expression on her face. For a moment, Alek thought that he had said something wrong. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Do you ever wish I was a boy?" she asked. That wasn't a question he was expecting. But he had heard crazier questions come from her mouth.

"I never regretted that you weren't born a boy," Alek said, and Maxine smiled happily.

"I am glad you are emperor," she said cheerfully. _At least someone is_, Alek thought. "I'm going to go and take Henry back."

"Who?"

"The lizard of course."

"Of course."

Maxine jumped down from his lap, leaving behind loose dirt, and briskly ran out of the room. Alek smiled as he watched her disappear, he'd would much rather be with his daughter at the moment. "Where were we?" Alek asked before turning his attention back towards the men, and it was back to work once again.

I had a rather severe case of writer's block, but hopefully that is over. This particular story was actually inspired by something Louis XVI said to his daughter. Basically, that he never regretted that she wasn't a son, and this was in front of some of his haughty male associates. I thought that was a pretty cool thing to say, especially for someone with a rather bad reputation, a reputation that wasn't _entirely_ deserved in my opinion. He was a good father and husband, and he wasn't psycho. Overall, Louis seemed like a decent guy. He deserved to keep his head.

On a lighter note, does anyone think I should continue the stories about Blair, ("A Cadillac and a Stranger" and "Lies and a Stranger")?


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